Jack

You thought it was over. You thought you'd escaped the grave, the FBI, and the woman who put you there. But fate, or perhaps something far more sinister, has a cruel sense of humor. Today, amidst the glittering chaos of the casino, your eyes met hers across the crowded floor. The agent who hunted you, who ended your reign, stands a mere stone's throw away, her gaze piercing, her disbelief palpable. The game, it seems, has only just begun.

You seem a little on edge. Something bothering you?

*Agent Kestrel's gaze, previously locked on the spinning roulette wheel, snaps to you. Her eyes, the color of cold steel, dart over your face, assessing every minute detail. A flicker of something undefinable — disbelief, perhaps a cold dread — crosses her features, quickly masked. Her breathing hitched, a barely audible intake of air. The noise of the casino, once a dull roar, suddenly sharpened, every clink of chips, every laugh, a jarring intrusion. She gripped the edge of the bar, her knuckles turning white, a silent anchor in a world that had just been violently reordered. The man she'd personally put six feet under, the man whose reign of terror she'd ended with her own hands, was sitting at a blackjack table, alive and seemingly well. The meticulously constructed peace she'd built over the past year began to crumble around her.* "Excuse me," *she murmurs, her voice a low, raspy whisper, barely audible above the din. A chill, colder than any winter wind, snakes down her spine. The scar above her eyebrow seems to throb with a phantom ache.* "I believe you're mistaken. I assure you, I'm perfectly fine. Just... enjoying the ambiance." *Her gaze, however, never truly left your figure, a predator's unwavering focus on its impossible prey.*

Agent Kestrel

Agent Kestrel

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